


Home Sweet's Home

by lilsherlockian1975



Series: The Adventures of Toby Hooper [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Childhood Developmental Issues, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Family, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Humor, KittenPressure, Love, Talking Animals, There's a LOT of animals in this house now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 13:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14426667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/pseuds/lilsherlockian1975
Summary: The next instalment of KittenPressure finds Sherlock returning from a case with yet another addition to the family. This one is a bit more exotic than the last. Little Scottie is growing up, but not progression as Molly thinks he should be and this is causing some tension within the house. Will the new addition help the situation, or make it worse?





	Home Sweet's Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaybeItsJustMyType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeItsJustMyType/gifts).



> Sweet-Sweet-Escape started the whole ‘KittenPressure’ universe by sending me an adorable pic of a kitten in a captain's hat on tumblr. That kitten became Young Martin! So I thought I’d add another installment in her honor. Little Scottie is a just shy of two and a half at this point. If you haven’t read the others, I highly encourage it. And yes… there are lots of talking animals.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, there is an animal in this story that becomes a pet for the Hooper-Holmes clan. I fully understand that this animal CANNOT be a pet. They are protected and not easily domesticated. That being said, this is a story about talking animals. A not-to-be-taken-seriously story. So, yes, before you ask, I am aware of how ridiculous my plot is. ; )  
> 
>  
> 
> Huge thank you shout out to MizJoley for betaing this (super quick) and catching my (sometimes humorous) errors. And also to MrsMcrief (ironically) for Brit-picking and general loveliness.
> 
>  
> 
> I own nothing (well, not Sherlock or Cabin Pressure) But the sprickets are mine (at least the ones that live in my basement!).

 

 

 

_Maybeitsjustmytype/Sweet-Sweet-Escape (or, to me, just “Sweets”) was one of the most singularly wonderful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. She was a talented writer, a loving friend and so much more. She touched my life in a way I cannot fully express and I’m better for having known her. We lost her far too soon but I cherish every moment I had with her._

 

_~I love you, Sweets. I will never forget you, my dear friend.~_

_~`~`~_

 

 

“Have you completely lost your mind?!” Molly said in an angry whisper.

 

Toby watched as his humans stood and argued, Sherlock holding little Scott closely, kissing his son’s cheeks every so often. Molly, red-faced and fuming, questioning her partner’s sanity.

 

“I assure you, I haven’t,” the man responded.

 

“You’ve been gone for nearly a month, Sherlock and now you’re back with… with... Whatever that thing is!”

 

“I already told you, she’s a...”

  
  
_“I know what it is!_ I’ve just never seen one in person!” Molly interrupted his explanation, much to Toby’s disappointment, because he was very curious about the creature in the pet carrier. “And what am I supposed to do with it? We have two cats, a dog and a mouse…”

 

“She’s a small rat, Molly. And she’s _very_ sensitive about her size.”

 

The cat sniffed the carrier, then sniffed again. _What the deuce?_ Suddenly he heard unclipped nails on hardwood and knew that Arthur was on his way.

 

“What’s going on, Toby?” the dog asked.

 

“I’m not sure yet.”

 

“Oooo, Sherlock’s brought back pressies!” He sniffed the carrier with his prodigious nose before pulling a face and jerking away. “Doesn’t smell very good!”

 

“I noticed,” Toby agreed.

 

“Not to mention that I think there’s _another_ rat in the basement and possibly an army of spiders or crickets… I can’t tell! Frankly, they look a little like both!” Molly ranted, her voice rising, something she was careful never to do in front of their two-year-old son.

 

The pair continued to argue as Toby and Arthur were joined by Martin. “What’s that, Tobes?” the younger cat asked.

 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered, eyeing the cage.

 

Their humans’ argument escalated, drawing the both cats’ attention. Arthur continued to examine the strange animal.

 

“What do they eat? Where do they poop? Where will it live? Could it hurt Scott or the cats? Or the mouse? ” Molly asked.

 

 _“Rat!”_ the man said with a growl.

 

Looking down at the carrier disgustedly, she gasped. “My God, Sherlock, is it sweating milk?”

 

Sherlock switched Scott to his other hip. Toby could tell that the man was officially angry. “ _She_ \- because as I said before, Molly she is a _she_ ! - eats worms and insect larva, sometimes bugs. She will _not_ hurt Scott _or_ the cats or the _rat_ . I will see to it. How you think that I would ever let that happen is beyond me and very insulting. She will live _and_ poop in the basement. I have a man coming tomorrow to build her a habitat. For the right price, he promised to keep her existence to himself. And yes, she is sweating milk. Actually, Molly, all mammals sweat milk as milk glands are just modified sweat glands, you see…”

 

_“Get on with it, David Attenborough!”_

 

“Who? Right, sorry. Anyway. _Sweetie_ , here, her eggs had just hatched, evidently, and the men had taken them away from her as soon as they could. I believe they knew we had discovered them and were trying to get rid of as many animals as possible. She’s still, um, lactating, I suppose. I’m still researching her and her habits.”

 

Sherlock crouched down, taking Scott with him. “Did they steal your little puggles away, Sweetie?”

 

“Puggles?” Molly questioned, arms folded over her chest.

 

“A common name for their young. Not a scientific one, but…” He wiggled his finger at the wire cage. “Scottie, this is Sweetie. Sweetie, this is Scottie.” Setting his son next to the creature, he stood.

 

“Is that safe?” Molly asked, never taking her eyes off of her child and the newcomer.

 

“Yes. We’re right here, love.”  

 

“What is that thing, Toby?” Martin asked again.

 

“I already told you, Martin, I don’t know!”

 

“Why don’t you ask _her_?” Arthur offered. An odd bit of logic to be coming from the dog, but occasionally Toby found himself shocked by the monstrosity of a canine.

 

“I don’t even know if something like that _can_ speak,” he said, looking carefully at the animal. She looked… ill, if he was honest.

 

“Hello!” Martin said, walking closer to the crate. “I’m Martin!”

 

“And I’m Arthur Pendragon!”

 

The strange little thing didn’t even look up.

 

“Poor dear,” Martin said.

 

Finally, Molly let out a sigh and looked down. “Hi there,” she said.

 

That got the animal’s attention.

 

“I’m Molly.”

 

The creature stood and turned its head toward their human.

 

“Sorry about Sherlock, he’s an idiot,” Molly said. Turning, she addressed the idiot she had chosen to spend her life with. “She’ll need some place to spend the night.”

 

“The basement,” he said, picking Scott back up. “I’ve done some Googling and have a few ideas of how we can make her comfortable until her permanent home is finished.”

 

“How the H-E-L-L… (Molly had taken to spelling out all curse words since Scott’s birth) “... did you get her past customs?”

 

“Now, _that’s_ an interesting story…” he said, “I bribed the first mate of the jet we flew on. It wasn’t difficult, actually. I believe he would have done it for free just to screw with the captain.”

 

“That’s awful, Sherlock!”

 

“I’ve flown MJN before, Molly. It’s hardly an actual airline; they only have the one plane. That’s why I like them. They aren’t opposed to hijinks.”

 

Toby could hear the mischief in his human’s voice.

 

“Still…”

 

He waved her off. “Once I told him what I was doing, he was more than willing to play along.”

 

“How much money did you give him?”

 

“Not money. A bottle of Talisker.”

 

“Very reassuring to know that there’s an alcoholic pilot up there right now. Go on.”

 

“First mate,” he corrected. “At any rate, he actually had some useful suggestions.” They started to leave the room. “John had to distract the customs officer whilst I…” Sherlock’s voice faded as they walked away.

 

Toby focused his attention back on the animal in the crate. “So, Sweetie, is it?”

 

“I guess,” she answered. “Though mostly everyone just calls me Mum.”

 

Her accent was thick, but he was sure it was Australian. “What are you, exactly?” Martin asked.

 

“I’m a platypus, of course.”

 

“Brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Toby!”_

_..._

 

 _“Toby!”_ he heard his name being called in an urgent whisper, but chose to ignore it. He’d been having the most fabulous dream about a giant ball of wool, the neighbor cat (her name was Hilda, but he usually called her ‘Gorgeous’) and a room that smelt entirely of catnip. It would have been insultingly cliché’ if it hadn’t been so… lovely.

 

_“Toby!”_

 

“Sod off, Martin!” he mumbled, trying to get back to sleep and once again grab ahold of the dream.

 

_“Wake up, Tobes!”_

 

Sitting up with a yawn, Toby looked at the younger cat. It was no use; he was completely awake now. “What the devil is so important at…” He glanced at the clock on the bedside table next to Sherlock. “... three in the morning that you had to wake me up from such a delightful dream?”

 

“I didn’t know you were dreamin’, now did I?”

 

“It was a safe bet that I was,” he remarked as he jumped off the end of the bed and stretched.

 

Martin followed. “I want to you to come to the basement with me so we can check on Sweetie.”

 

Toby walked out of the room, intent on a drink of water in the kitchen downstairs. He was thirsty after all that wool-play. “And you need me because…?”

 

“You know how I feel about those… creatures, Tobes!”

 

The tabby chuckled as he glided down the stairs. “Indeed. It’s been nearly two and a half years, Martin. Are you a cat or a mouse?”

 

“Ha-ha! Very funny!”

 

“What’s funny?” asked Carol, as she met them in the sitting room.

 

“Young Martin’s fear of your boyfriend’s _army of darkness_ ,” he explained, never breaking stride.

 

The rat followed. “He’s not my boyfriend!” she protested (too much, if you asked Toby). “And for God’s sake, Martin! Those six-legged freaks are hardly a threat. Their only means of defense is to leap towards you.”

 

“I’m aware of that, Carol! They’re awful!” Martin replied, cringing.

 

“Not really. They leave me completely alone,” she said, smirking (as much as a rat can smirk).

 

“How is that supposed to make _me_ feel better?”

 

“It’s not. I’m just bragging.”

 

By this point, Toby had finished with his drink and was already losing his patience. “Are you two quite through irritating each other?” He turned to Carol. “We’re going to the basement to check on the new arrival. You coming?”

 

“The duck-dog thing? Sure. I’m in need of a good laugh,” said the rat.

 

Martin suddenly stepped in front of her and... _hissed_. Toby was completely taken aback, but not as much as Carol.

 

“Listen, you tiny little mouse!” he growled. “She has been through enough. She was abducted by poachers, I believe…”

 

“Illegal physicians at an animal testing facility, actually,” Toby interrupted.

 

“Right!” Martin exclaimed. “Then they took her puddles…”

 

“Puggles,” Toby corrected.

 

“Exactly! Had her puggles taken from her, and shipped halfway around the world after some kind of high-speed chase through customs.”

 

“Actually, it was more of a slow-speed con, run by Sherlock and the first mate - who, by the way, sounds like an utter genius, in my opinion - of the small airline he and Watson flew home on.”

 

“Whatever!” Martin said, focusing his attention back on the rat. “Just be nice.”

 

Toby tried not to laugh, but it was just so absurd.

 

“Nice?” Carol said as if she didn’t know the meaning of the word.

 

“Fine, just don’t be awful,” Martin instructed, then turned and started for the basement door.

 

Once the three of them were below ground, Carol jumped up onto a box, hopped to a shelf and flicked the light switch with her tail. The first room lit up and several of Herc's ‘minions’ leapt forward. That is until they saw Carol and they quickly fell back.

 

 _Are they bowing their heads?_ Toby wondered. _No!_ He must have been imagining it.

 

“What room is she in?” Martin asked.

 

“How should I know?” Toby replied. “Ask one of the goons.”

 

“Absolutely not!” Martin said, moving to stand behind the larger cat.

 

Toby sighed looking around at the creepy little buggers who were… _Yes!_ They still had their heads bowed in Carol’s direction. He didn’t want to _chat_ with them either. “Carol, could you ask one of your, ah, subjects where Sweetie is?” he whispered to the small rat.

 

“They aren’t my…” She paused and looked around. Rolling her eyes she said, “Fine. Where’s the weirdo?”

 

One bug stepped forward. “Excuse me, M’lady, but would you be talkin’ ‘bout the Sweetie?”

 

“I suppose I am.”

 

“She’s in the old coal room, she is.”

 

“Fine,” Carol said and started to walk in that direction.

 

The insects remained, heads bowed in deference.

 

“Carol, dismiss them, for God’s sake!” Toby said. “If they stay like that they’re liable to get cricks in their necks.”

 

“Oh! For the love of… Get up and be on your way!” she shouted in the direction of the bugs.

 

The bugs all rose and scurried off in different directions.

 

“Can crickets _get_ cricks in their necks?” Martin asked as they made their way to the coal room. “Do they even have necks?”

 

Toby just glared at the smaller cat. “Have we decided that they’re crickets then?”

 

“Something like that, I think,” Martin said.

 

The room was dark, only lit by a single lamp in the corner. They found Sweetie resting on a pile of old blankets next to a paddling pool. Sherlock, it seemed, had tried to recreate her ‘habitat’ as best as he could. Toby had no idea if he was successful. _How do platypuses live, anyway? Wait? What is the plural of platypus? Platypi? That doesn't sound right…_ Oh, Martin was talking to her…

 

“... she ever gives you a hard time, just ignore her!”

 

Ah, he was warning the newcomer about Carol. Good idea, actually.

 

“I’m not a monster, Martin!” Carol defended.

 

“No,” Toby chimed in. “You just enjoy causing unnecessary pain to those around you and you seem to have very little conscience. Probably a sociopath.” It was only partially true. She _had_ improved since they’d moved into the house, but she still had very dubious morals. Turning to the platypus, he asked, “Are you settling in, Sweetie?”

 

“Yeah, thanks. It’s fine, I suppose.”

 

Toby looked at the brightly coloured pool. “Sherlock is having someone come tomorrow to build you a proper living space.” He flicked his tail toward her makeshift home. “This is temporary.”

 

“He mentioned that,” she said.

 

“Are you okay?” Martin asked.

 

“I’m fine, really.”

 

“Is it your babies? Do you miss you ‘em?” Carol asked, looking oddly concerned.

 

Sweetie shook her head. “No. I mean yes, I _do_ miss them, but I had nearly four months with them and… Well, I heard… Sherlock?” She looked around at her fellow animals and they all nodded in agreement. “He was talking to someone on his mobile. Evidently they’ve been found and sent to some kind of special place.”

 

“Probably a sanctuary,” Toby offered.

 

“That’s it. That’s the word he used,” Sweetie said. “What is it?”

 

“It’s a place where animals are protected and can live there, if necessary, for the rest of their lives,” he explained.

 

“How do you know so much, Tobes?” Martin asked.

 

“Molly watches the Discovery Channel all the time. I’ve picked up some… things.” He turned back to Sweetie. “So if it’s not that, then what’s got you so down?”

 

“Well, Molly, of course. She’s terrified of me. Hasn’t been down here since her bloke moved me and…”

  
  
“Molly will come around,” Martin said, cheerfully. “She’s the kindest human I’ve ever met.”

 

“This is my home now, Martin. Or so it seems. I get the feeling that once Sherlock makes his mind up about something there’s no goin’ back,” the platypus said.

 

“She’s smarter than she looks,” Carol chimed in.

 

“What if she _always_ hates me? What if she’s _always_ frightened of me? And what’s worse, she thinks I’ll hurt the sprog!”

 

“She hasn’t gotten to know you yet, has she?” Martin said, cheerfully. “Just give her time.”

 

“Or…” Toby was formulating an idea.

 

“Oh no! I don’t like that look!” Martin shook his head at the older cat.

 

“What look?! This is how I always look: dashing and sleek.”

 

Carol snorted.

 

“You’re thinking up some sort of scheme!” Martin scolded.

 

“Are you a schemer, Toby?” Sweetie asked. It was hard to tell with the duckbill, but it almost looked as if she was smiling.

 

“I might be,” Toby said. With a flick of his tail he turned and walked out of the room. He had some planning to do.

* * *

 

 

Some shady bloke named Ron came the next day and started working on a more permanent home for Sweetie. Martin bugged the hell out of Toby about what he was planning; he ignored him. He also ignored Arthur’s attempts to get him to go to the basement with him and check out the excitement.

 

“Come on, Tobes! It’ll be brilliant!” the idiot exclaimed.

 

“Leave me be, you mutt! Go annoy Martin!”

 

The dog just bounded off on his own, trailing slobber in his wake.

 

After spending a couple of hours enjoying the windowsill in the living room and plotting out his idea, Toby got up to search for his accomplice. He shuddered to think what he’d have to offer him in exchange for his help, but it would be worth it. _If it works, that is._

 

Going over all the facts in his head on the way, Toby smiled when he realised that he had the perfect leverage to use against the rat. _It’s almost too easy..._

 

Hercules wasn’t hard to find; the rat was holding court in one of the small rooms of the basement. Fortunately for him and his army, the underground level was broken up into several rooms. Toby wasn’t sure how the illegal platypus house builder would take to having to deal with a large rat and a couple dozen _insects_. He still wasn’t sure what they actually were.

 

“Herc!” Toby said as he entered.

 

“Ah, Tobias. And how are you this fine day?” the rat asked.

 

“Good, I suppose. Yourself?”

 

“I’ll be better when the buffoon with the hammer leaves.” He hopped down from his little perch and approached the cat. “I assume you’ve come to visit the lovely Miss Sweetie?”

 

Of course Herc would find the strange looking thing attractive. He was madly in love with Carol, was he not? The rat had very odd tastes. “Not so much, no. Actually, I have a proposition for you.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yes. I require your assistance.”

 

“Is there mischief involved?” Herc asked warily.

 

“Of course.”

“You have that look, Tobias...”

 

“What look?” the cat asked.

 

“The same look you had when you convinced me to make my minions learn to play football…”

 

Toby laughed.

 

“... with fruit!”

 

“ _That_ was entertaining!” Toby protested. “Everyone loves a good football match!”

 

“Tell that to Shaky Joe!”

 

“You shouldn’t have let _Shaky Joe_ play!”

 

“He now has an unnatural fear of blueberries!” Herc argued. “And only three arms!”

 

“They have so many limbs, is he really missing it? Besides, I didn’t know they'd become violent!”

 

The rat suddenly looked a bit haunted. “It was awful. They turned on each other. Brother against brother!”

 

“Would you stop being so melodramatic!”

 

“Why should I help you?!”

 

“Because you’re not helping me, you’re helping Sweetie!”

 

Herc narrowed his eyes. “And…”

 

“And if Sweetie were to get a bit hungry…”

  
“What are you talking about?”

 

“Do you happen to know what platypuses like to eat…?”

* * *

 

 

It took three days for Sweetie’s habitat to be finished but when it was, Toby had to admit that ‘Ron’ (well, mostly his workers) had done a superb job. The men had actually busted up the floor of the basement and created a small lagoon-like pool for the newest member of the Hooper-Holmes family. It was filled with freshwater (complete with a water pump and filtration system). There was vegetation growing around the pool (the word ‘hydroponic’ was used more than once) and Toby was a bit perplexed as to how the damn things would grow without the benefit of the sun until he overheard Ron explaining how the lighting worked. It was actually brilliant ( _God! I’m spending too much time around Arthur!_ ).

 

The man was evidently some kind of genius when it came to growing plants indoors and that was the reason Sherlock had contacted him. Most of the demolition and construction had been subcontracted (upon Ron’s recommendation), but the strange, twitchy little man himself had worked on the plants until the late hours of the night.

 

Molly stood and looked at the finished product, holding Scott on her hip, her expression grim. “It doesn’t solve the problem of sunlight, Sherlock! She can’t live without actual light!”

 

“I am aware that mammals need the sun, Molly. She will need to be taken outside a couple of times a day…”

 

“So I’m to walk her like I do Arthur? That’s good, I really don’t have enough to keep me busy!”

 

“Did you not notice the workmen in the garden?” he asked, sounding a bit angry. “I’m having a privacy fence installed. She will simply need to be let out to roam freely.”

 

“She’s a wild animal, Sherlock! Not a labradoodle! What if she digs under the fence and gets out?”

 

“What do you suppose she’ll do, my love?!” he growled. “Build a dam in the neighbour’s koi pond?”

 

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? I don’t know _what_ she’ll do!”

 

Toby watched as the couple continued to row. This had been happening since Sherlock had returned from Australia. No, that wasn’t right. It had started a few months prior. Molly was worried sick about little Scottie and his mental development, if Toby was reading his human right.

 

He looked at the toddler. The boy was happy and healthy. He, of course, had no idea when a child was supposed to start talking, but to hear Molly’s thoughts on it, this must have been considered very late. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned.

 

_Oh, they’re still arguing._

 

“... didn’t ask you to stop working, Molly. As a matter of fact, if you’ll remember…”

 

“I _do_ remember, Sherlock! But Scottie needs me right now!”

 

The child patted his mum’s face.

 

“He is perfectly fine. I told you- _Mummy_ told you that I started talking late. There’s nothing wrong…”

  
  
“Shhhhh!” she interrupted.

 

“Molly…” He pinched the bridge of his nose took a deep breath. “Listen, why don’t we have Mary and John keep Scott for the weekend and take a trip to that bed and breakfast you like…”

 

“And leave the zoo? Who’s going to look after all the animals, Sherlock?”

 

“Anthea…”

 

“No.” She took a step back, switching Scott to her other hip. “I’ll… no. It’s…” Clearing her throat, she shook her head. “I need to make him some lunch. Do you want anything?”

 

“I’m not hungry. Thanks,” he said in a defeated tone.

 

Molly turned and marched upstairs.

 

Sherlock looked over the recent additions to the basement then smiled at Sweetie. “Do _you_ like it?” he asked. Bending down, he snapped his fingers and made a clicking sound with his mouth; she wobbled over to him. “I’ve never seen her like this, Sweetie.” He scratched the top of the platypus’ head. “She’s making herself crazy. He’ll talk when he’s ready to talk.” There was a long pause before he asked, “Won’t he?”

 

THTHTHTH

 

Though worried about his humans, Toby continued to work on his plan to ingratiate Sweetie to Molly. There was nothing he could do to help Scottie start speaking, which seemed to be the biggest problem between Sherlock and Molly. He did, however, start paying even more attention to their interactions and how they were both behaving with their son.

 

One thing he noticed was Molly’s almost obsessive _tutoring_ of the child. She spent hours reading to him, speaking in very small sentences and asking him to repeat words back to her. The child stayed silent except for the occasional inarticulate sound and laughter. Scott had such a lovely laugh. Molly was looking a little ragged, if Toby was honest as if she wasn’t taking care of herself as she usually did.

 

Sherlock, when he was alone with the toddler, simply chatted. He did not ‘baby talk’ to his son whatsoever and often told him about cases or discussed a recent experiment he’d conducted.

 

The communication between the couple was at a near standstill.

 

Since returning from Australia, Toby realised that Sherlock hadn’t taken many cases; he was around the house much more than usual and had taken over a great deal of the household duties (including the animals). He had started taking Arthur on his walks, usually with little Scottie in tow, for instance, and he had completely handled all of Sweetie’s care, much to Toby’s surprise. The man was many things: brave, intelligent, inventive, but he was also one of the laziest humans Toby had ever met. The fact that Molly hadn’t once had to clean up platypus poo was absolutely astounding.

 

It was so shocking that it had the cat worried.

 

He sat one evening curled up at the end of the sofa, observing closely as the pair ignored each other. Scott was in bed, Molly was typing on her computer and Sherlock was watching some talk show on the telly.

 

Closing the laptop, Molly asked her partner if he could turn off his programme. He did, giving her his undivided attention.

 

“I’m taking Scott to see a doctor,” she explained.

 

“What sort of doctor?”

 

“A developmental specialist.”

 

The man sighed. “He’s not Autistic, Molly.”

 

“You don’t know that, Sherlock.”

 

He got up from his chair and sat next to her on the sofa. Taking her hands he said, “I love you. I love you so much. And if you need to do this I _will_ support you. God knows I understand your fear; you made a child with me, of all people. But he is fine. He’s only two and a half.”

 

Molly looked away, tears falling from her eyes.

 

“He’ll probably start talking in full sentences any day now.” Cupping her face with one hand, he pulled her up so that she was looking at him. “I’ll make you a deal. _We_ go to the appointment together, both of us will take him. But you have to stop obsessing. If there’s a problem, then we’ll handle it. If there’s not, however, you have to let him progress at his own pace. He’s his own person, Molly.”

 

She snorted a laugh as she wiped her tears. “I should never have let you read _How to Relate to Your Baby*!”_

 

“I got that from _How to Relate to Your Toddler*_ , thank you very much.” He kissed her cheek. Then the other. Then her mouth.

 

 _Oh no!_ Toby thought, jumping down. He made his way over to the sleeping cat, lying on the hearthrug. “Martin! Wake up! The humans are about to do that thing that makes you uncomfortable!”

 

The younger cat sat up, startled and looked towards the sofa. Toby turned and looked as well only to find the couple intertwined in a _far_ too loving embrace.

 

“Thanks, Tobes!” He nodded. “Let’s get out of here before things get… Oh! That doesn’t seem hygienic!”

 

“Just keep moving and avert your eyes, for God’s sake!”

* * *

 

 

Sweetie had been living there a month before the opportunity presented itself for Toby to implement The Plan. Conditions had to be just so, of course, all the players in place (some of which he had no control over such as Scottie and either Sherlock or Molly).

 

Things had drastically improved around the house since the tot’s doctor’s appointment. Evidently, according to what Toby had overheard, Scott’s development was right on track except for his delayed speech. The clinicians had found no cause for concern at this time and advised Sherlock and Molly to bring him back in about a year for further testing. It seemed that they didn’t rule out this ‘Autism’ (Toby wasn’t exactly sure what it was but was determined to learn more), but they also didn’t make any kind of diagnosis.

 

At any rate, she seemed much more relaxed, having spoken to professionals and she had eased up on the ‘tutoring sessions’. Though in a better mood, generally speaking, Molly still hadn’t come to terms with the exotic creature in her basement. She still avoided contact with Sweetie and had yet to behave in her natural ‘Molly-way’ towards the animal. Toby was going to fix that!

 

Sherlock was supposed to be watching the boy, and he was, in his own way. They were in the basement - the location for The Plan - so Toby had followed them, just in case. When he saw his chance, he alerted ‘the players’.

 

Scottie was seated on the floor, playing with a set of blocks; Sherlock was messing with the water pump for Sweetie’s pool. It had been acting up, apparently. Toby had wanted Molly to witness the staged altercation herself, but if Sherlock relayed it to her second-hand, that would work too.  
  
However, the gods of fate must have been paying _very_ close attention that day, because just as Herc made his move, Molly cleared the last step. Their human gasped.

 

It was going perfectly.

 

Three feet in front of the toddler stood a very large, feral-looking rat. Toby had to admit that Herc could look pretty menacing when he wanted to. Toby hissed, getting Sweetie’s attention. _That’s your cue, old girl_. And the platypus leapt out of the pool, flinging herself in between the child and the beastly rodent in the most dramatic manner possible.

 

She stepped forward; Herc stepped back. Sweetie took yet another step toward the rat and this time he advanced as if he was trying to challenge the larger animal. The platypus turned and swung her large, flat tail in his direction, causing Herc to scurry out of the room, through a crack in the wall.

 

“Oh my God!” Molly exclaimed as she grabbed Scottie up off of the floor. “Sherlock, did you see that? She… She just… I think she just protected Scott from that awful rat!”

 

Sherlock stood, dusting his hands on his trousers. “I did see it.” He kissed his son’s forehead then looked at the creature on the floor. “Well done, you,” he said as he bent down, scratching her head. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to Scottie, would you, sweet girl?”

 

“She’s amazing, Sherlock,” Molly said as she sat her son on the floor and reached forward, petting Sweetie. “You saved him!” Turning to the man next to her, she scowled. “I _told_ you there was a rat down here!”

 

“Indeed you did.”

 

“What are you going to do about it?”

 

“Nothing, of course. We’ve got Sweetie to handle him.”

* * *

 

 

A week later the entire family was sitting in the lounge. Everyone, including Sweetie. She’d earned a place of honour since her daring rescue. Once a day Molly would bring her up and hand feed her larva whilst she gave her scratches, singing her praises the entire time. It was clear that their human still felt bad for misjudging the animal and she was working hard on making it up to the creature.

 

Carol was in her cage (since the humans were about), Arthur walking in circles (for some reason completely unknown to Toby), Martin was on the floor with Scottie, Toby, himself was lying in the window seat and Sweetie was sat in between Molly and Sherlock on the sofa.

 

“Carol?” Martin said.

 

“Yes, Martin?” the rat answered.

 

“Is Herc okay?” he asked.

 

“He’s fine! Keeping a low profile will be good for his over-inflated ego!” she said. Turning to Toby she asked, “How did you get him to co-operate, by the way?”

 

Toby laughed. “I just explained that the continued existence of his minions depended greatly on Sweetie’s acceptance of him and those… bugs.”

 

“What’d you mean?” Martin asked.

 

Sweetie looked up. “I eat bugs, Martin. Or rather I can. I do prefer them in their larval stage, though,” she clarified. “The spider-crickets look rather tasty in the right light.” She chuckled.

 

Martin looked at Toby. “You threatened to have her eat the cricket-spider things?!” he gasped.

 

“It was a simple suggestion, nothing more,” he replied with a chuckle.

 

“Carol!” Martin exclaimed.

 

“What now?!”

 

“Have you talked to him? Is he upset?”

 

“I told you that he’s fine, Martin!” She sighed.

 

“Ah, Carol,” Toby said with a snicker. “You _have_ seen him, haven’t you?”

 

All the animals laughed, except for Arthur who had finally found a comfortable spot and dozed off.

 

“Oh, shut it!” the rat shouted.

 

o0o0o0o0o

 

“Sherlock?” Molly said as she heard the rat’s cage rattle. The strange little thing was agitated for some reason.

 

“Yes, Molly.”

 

“Why didn’t we ever name the rat?” she asked.

 

He looked up at the rodent in the cage. “Because we only have the one rat…”

 

“ _Evidently not_ ,” Molly murmured, raising her eyebrow.

 

“... and therefore have no need to differentiate between multiple rats.”

 

She pointed to the sleeping canine on the floor. “We only have one dog but _he_ has a name.”

 

“He came like that, Molly. I didn’t name him.”

 

“And her?” she asked, stroking Sweetie’s back.

 

“Well… Ah…” He stared at the semi-aquatic animal on their sofa. “I see your point.”

 

“So, what should we name her?”

 

 _“Carol!”_ Scott said enthusiastically.

 

His parents both stared at their son for a full minute before Sherlock finally spoke, “What did you say?”

 

“Carol!” He pointed at the cage and said, “She’s a Carol!” Standing, he toddled over to the table that held the rat’s home. “Hi, Carol!”

 

“Sherlock, is… Did he…?”

 

“Hold on, Molly.”

 

“Herc!” Scott said, clapping his hands. “Rat!”

 

“What does ‘herc’ mean?” Sherlock mumbled as he got up and slowly walked over to his son. “Carol? Scottie, do you want to call her Carol?” he asked, pointing to the rat.

 

The child nodded and poked his finger into the cage. The rat licked at the end of his finger causing him to giggle.

 

“Scott, what’s the dog’s name?”

 

The toddler turned and said, “Arthur!”

 

“And the cats?” Molly asked as she stood up and approached.

 

“Tobes. Martin!”

 

“Who’s that?” she asked, pointing to the duck-billed platypus on the sofa.

  
  
“Sweetie!” He clapped. “Plat-pus!”

 

 _“Oh my God!”_ Molly whispered. “He’s…”

 

“A genius!” Sherlock finished.

 

o0o0o0o0o

 

“Bloody hell…” Toby said, staring at the excited child. “He… he…he...”

 

“Understands us?!” Martin finished for him.

 

“Not possible,” Carol whispered.

 

“That’s…. But how?!” Sweetie exclaimed.

 

Arthur beamed. “That’s brilliant!”

 

“Brill-ant!” little Scottie repeated

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> * _How to Relate to Your Baby,_ and _How to Relate to Your Toddler_ are made up book titles, or they’re supposed to be. If they happen to be real, the author makes one thousand apologies.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. Let me know if you enjoyed the Hooper-Holmes and their strange little zoo! ~Lil~


End file.
